


The last leaf of my autumns

by MsThing (Hieiandshino)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Character Death, F/M, POV Male Character, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-10
Updated: 2014-02-10
Packaged: 2018-01-11 21:23:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1178083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hieiandshino/pseuds/MsThing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>In the end, we are nothing but sinners. And I never loved you.</i>
</p>
<p>(Unrevised work)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The last leaf of my autumns

**Author's Note:**

> Harry Potter does not belong to me.
> 
> English isn’t my first language and this fanfic wasn’t revised by someone fluent in the language, so if you see any mistake, please let me know!
> 
> This work is a translation of an old fanfic of mine that I like a lot and thought it was worth to translate :) Hope you like it!

You say you love me.

You say you love me in the dark, so I can't see you blush violently; so I can't see you look up and admire the yellow spots on the ceiling; so I can't see the lie boil away out of your pores and mingle with your smell of almonds and sweat.

You tell me you love me in the dark, so I can't look you in the eyes and tell you _my_ truth.

The truth that I don't love you.

.

You laugh on bed.

Somehow, you like to laugh on bed. After, before or during what we do, you like to laugh. Sometimes I think it's a way to not cry, because you’re sad with your life, but is too proud to show.

But I know that laughing is a way to forgive yourself.

.

On the first time, I pushed you away and asked you if you had gone mad. On the second time, I told you that you were crazy, that we were _brothers_. On the third, I simply closed my eyes and embraced the feeling.

On the fourth time, it was I who pushed you on the bed and touched your most intimate part, looking for pleasure.

Mine as well as yours.

.

In the morning, you are always by the window. You like to watch the sunrise; you like to watch the dew evaporate from the glass; like to think that, one day, you were happy.

I only look at you, waiting for the truths that will never come.

.

But I always was a optimistic loser.

.

It's not like he is going to come back. You know that; I know that. This is his house we live in, and yet he is not here — he never truly was. He won't come back, and Hermione won’t either.

And yet you come to me, as if this is going to hurt you ex-best friend and my always soul mate ( _even if she left me behind_ ).

I don't know if you know, but this doesn’t hurt anyone. Because Hermione deserves to be happy and so does Harry and, because of that, she is immune to the bruises you kindly offer her.

The only one who receives them, in the end, will always be you.

I'm just the bastard that takes advantage of this situation.

.

( _Without. Wanting. To_ )

.

Of my biggest wishes, what remains now is the one to hold your shoulders and tell you Harry won't come back. Tell you he is happy and so is Hermione and it's useless to stay here, looking through the tallest window of the house the streets — my window, that you stole without noticing.

Of my biggest wishes, the only one that remains now is you.

.

In the end, your sweat, your lies and the smell of almonds makes me their prisoner. But it's not as if I ever loved you.

.

(It's not as if I ever could)

.

And of the wishes I wished and that now remain with me, you are the only one I make come true.

.

Your shoulders tremble and you smile at me. There is sadness in your eyes and something that says you already knew everything I told you. Your face suddenly becomes paler, lifeless, and your hair loses its color too.

I remember then that you went to the Chamber of Secrets and I ask myself if this was the same expression you had when, to save yourself from losing your life to Tom Riddle, you chose to lose your heart to Harry Potter.

.

You’re nothing but this: a body forgotten by men.

And that's why I never deny you anything. I don't want to be another one in your list of delusions.

.

Because, even if I don't _love_ you, I still do. You are my sister; you are the remains of my former times of glory.

.

Absent glory, tainting not only my destiny, but yours as well.

.

(in the end, we are nothing but sinners)

.

And one day you tell me the truth.

_I don't love you_ comes out from your mouth like an arrow through my chest; like an _Avada Kedavra_ in a war.

I only look at you, trying to understand what happened for you to say it. And then I see.

It's Christmas and it's raining.

Exactly like three years ago.

.

I close my eyes, trying to not cry, relieved. Freedom tastes different for sinners.

.

( _and never lasts_ )

.

The next day, however, you hug me, ask me to forgive you and tell me you truly love me. It's in this moment I see you’re being nothing but sincere. I see now that it's true and the darkness that surrounded us after what we do exists so I couldn't see your tears.

You kiss my neck, touches my groin and whisper in my ear as quietly as you can that you can't live without me.

Somehow, I believe.

.

And yet — even if it's true —, it's not as if it would change something.

It's not as if I will ever love you back the way you love me.

.

Years go by, you keep having me and Harry Potter becomes nothing but legend to our ears.

Christmas comes and goes and tells and retells the tales of our story, until the rain comes and tells and retells the days of your disease.

You die calling my name in a whisper that is almost in love. You, the last leave of my autumns.

I close your eyes, kiss your wrinkled forehead and then guide my lips to your dried and old mouth — your last wish unwished.

The years are marked on your face as if on wood — face that was always so young in my eyes — and yet, you're still beautiful.

.

And yet, I still don't love you.


End file.
